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Stooping to full height!
I had to visit my doctor yet again the other day. This was for an examination ahead of my annual major check-up at Pont Chaillou Cardiac Department at Rennes Hopital (not a ‘typo’. There is no ‘s’ in the French word ‘Hopital’). My annual check-up at Pont Chaillou usually takes anywhere up to three days. They give me my own private room, complete with bathroom and a colour telly. This is a bit different to the British NHS where I'd get a place standing in a queue for four hours ahead of a check-up took that took just five minutes and all they gave me was a nasty rash!
He’s a lovely chap is my doctor and has become a firm friend. He pulls no punches though when warning me about my condition.
“Your weight is just fine Chris. If you were three metres tall! But you’re not. Actually, how tall are you? I can’t find a record of your height in your file.”
I am quite tall. My doctor isn’t. I am actually 1.93 metres (6’4” tall). I don’t know how tall my doctor is but he is French, and for the most part therefore, as with most of his fine fellow countrymen, he is less tall.
“Stand against the wall under my measuring scale please.” asks my doctor.
I did as I was bid.
“I can’t see up there Chris.” says doctor.
I bent my knees so as to assist. My eyes were now just about at the same height as his.
“What does it say now?" I asked.
“1.63 metres.” he replied.
“OK, so now add thirty centimetres.” I said.
My doctor friend has looked at me a little strangely ever since. He’ll get used to it though. Eventually. Once I’ve got him fully trained.
I’ve finished stooping now.
For the day anyway.